I dream of banks

I'm pretty sure I've gone a little insane lately. I base this mostly upon the fact that just this morning I found myself giggling at information I'm researching on banks. GIGGLING. At BANKS. It's unnatural. At any rate, for my internship I've been doing a lot of bank related projects because one of the clients that my supervisor works with is a local bank. Turns out that what banks are realizing is that the younger generations tend to be much less loyal. This is a problem with banks because less loyalty means less dinero. The latest bank "trend", if you will, is to become more retail-like because the theory is that if people enjoy just walking into the lobby more, then they will be more likely to stay with one particular bank. I'm not going to lie, there's validity in the idea. People have a tendency to shop at stores where they like the layout more. Maybe because they're more comfortable there, maybe because they're shallow bitches like me, I don't know. What this ultimately means is that banks are become more brand and less product (look at me with the advertising lingo). In layman's/my terms, this means that banks are trying to create an image that people recognize and identify with. As a result, a lot of banks are revamping their images. Bank of American has done it, Washington Mutual even has a patent for their branch design, and Umpqua Bank (uuuuuuuuuuumpqua) has its own coffee brand and gives away "Umpqua chocolate" with every receipt. Seems stupid but I like chocolate, so whatever.

However, in what I consider the whole coup de grace in this situation, the new step for many of the banks is to reinvent their image even in their name. Yes, they are removing the word "Bank" from their name because they want to be considered a "financial destination and community center". Lame. But let's consider this more closely: JP Morgan & Chase is changing its name to just Chase. Okay. Harris Bank is changing its name to just Harris. You know what, that's just dumb. I have a cousin named Harris. The last time he visited me, he ran head-first into the banister and was unfazed. I do not want my little cousin Harris conducting my banking for me, end of story. Citibank is now going by Citi. That's just precious. It's al edgy and young now. I can't wait for "Citi" to start spiking its hair and being all angsty and misunderstood. The next step is clearly to call it C. Biti and then just Biti because the C. comes between it and its fans. I'm just saying. I want my freaking Umpqua coffee.

I kick ass at getting hit in the face

So I did finally join a rec soccer team and it RULES! RULES, I TELL YOU!!! There is only one real downside, which is not exactly a downside, but something to be wary of if you value your life. The soccer team is coed, which is fine, but the menfolk don't tend to hold back. I mean, no one is violent and I don't really hold back either, but when someone outweighs me by 50 lbs and is half a foot taller, there's only so much I can do. I'm pretty sure I damaged my left foot and I have a wicked bruise on my right thigh, but it's also kind of exciting to be, you know, injured again. On the other hand, I would also assume that I'm the envy of every man there. I shall explain why. During one of my patented defense techniques that involves a lot of running and "excuse me"s, I kind of tripped over this one chick. Admittedly, it wasn't just my fault. The bitch definitely got in the way. In order to catch myself, I ended up putting out a hand and pretty much full on grabbed her right breast. Which led me and leads me to ruminate on why stuff like this always happens to me. It wasn't just a passing glance either. I was really off balance and took awhile to right myself and ultimately had to press on her breasteses in order to get up. With a quipped "WOAH! We're best friends now!", I ran off to do the same thing to some Eastern European man. By the way, hardcore recreational soccer girls don't have a lot to work with. Quite a shame, that.

In other news, I got an email about volunteering at a low-income apartment complex this weekend helping to move Katrina refugees in. Since I didn't have any better plans, I decided to go and lend a hand. One absurdly cute little boy asked me for "Either a toaster or a pitcher". That's adorable. It's unclear whether he intended to make toast in the pitcher or serve lemonade out of the toaster, but it was hella cute. Alas, there were no toasters. So that afternoon, after all the volunteers left, my mother and I went on a quest to buy toasters from Target and then deliver them to this little kid and the housing office since I knew some of the other people moving in were asking for them. By the by, as purely a side note, SUPER TARGET FREAKING RULES!!! I could not be MORE OBSESSED with it. I DREAM about Super Target. I WOULD BEAR MY CHILDREN IN SUPER TARGET. I would *not*, however, bear my children in the new show "Bones, starring David Boreanaz and some chick. I heard the radio commercial today: not impressed.

At any rate, upon returning to the apartment complex, I am somewhat dismayed to find that the lady who had directed me earlier that day was nowhere to be found. I don't really want to just leave 6 toasters lying around, so I go searching for her. My mother is of the mind that everyone who lives there will know who and where the coordinator lady is. I am of the mind that no, no they won't. So after she questioned some slightly frightening man that sounds like he's from Detroit, she decided to go looking for more possible sources that won't look at her as blankly. My plan of attack is to wait for coordinator lady. While I'm waiting for my mother to come around to my point of view, said Detroit man walks over to me and says:

DM - "Where are you from?"
Me - "I'm sorry?"
DM - "I said where are you from?"
Me - "Errrrrrr...here?"
DM - "I'm from France." <--line
Me - *looks at 'Italia' shirt* "Okay."
DM - "We can be friends?"
Me - "No."

I'm so good natured.

What I'm about to say is going to sound really mean

But bear with me for a moment. I just walked into the kitchen at my work place and received quite a shock. I'm going to semi-predicate this by pointing out that, for whatever reason, every woman at my advertising firm that is within 10 years of my age range is not only super pretty, but also married with 30 children or pregnant with 30 and a Kabbalah birthing pool. Oh, Britney. Anyway, so I'm constantly surrounded by pretty and well coifed people. Welcome to Dallas. But today I walk into the kitchen and there's this woman standing there who is made up and wearing clothes I would never put on, but they're fine for 40 somethings in the work place. She is ugly. Not kind of ugly, mountain bike accident ugly. Freddie Kruger ugly. I was so taken aback that I had to stop myself from letting out a little whimper. It's totally not her fault, either God cursed her at birth or she had a serious burn accident as a child, but it's just bad news. And I give her mad props for taking care of herself despite her face, but wow. I feel so guilty but I just have to tell someone. Also, I'm not really one to judge but wow. It made me realize that while I don't appear to be reeling in the menfolk, I'm not screwed for life either. Of course, this woman is married and probably has a zillion kids, but you get the idea.

Speaking of being made up and well polished, I've made a decision concerning Dallas. I always kind of thought of this city as being fashion savvy. What has become very apparent to me lately is that Dallas is one of the most fashion conscious cities I've ever been in, but not very fashion savvy. That is to say, everyone here, for the most part anyway, is very rich looking. They all have their beautifully expensive shoes, their ostrich skin handbags, and $50 manicures. What they don't have is skinny jeans and gaucho pants. There's not just tons of individuality and everyone is pretty conservative in their clothes, except when they put on their hoochie cowgirl clothes for bars (mmmm leather pants and halter middrifts). Everyone wears sweatpants, but they have to be Prada. Does Prada even make sweatpants? I vote no.

Last but not least, I'm looking to join a community soccer group to get more consistent cardio. You in?

My most favorite part of entry level jobs:

Survey data entry. Let me splain you why: Inevitably, no matter how banal the survey happens to be, you will come across what is truly an amusing answer. To wit, I am creating an Excel spreadsheet that will ultimately tabulate the average of a series of answers about the Dallas Assembly. The Dallas Assembly is a group made up of community leaders, primarily businessmen and women from what I can tell. Basically they attend a seminar once a year or so and every 5 - 6 years, they take a 2 page survey so that they can offer inane feedback, again as far as I can tell. Of course, this means that half of them are probably oil barons who are 80 + with trophy wives. I do so want to become a trophy wife, but that is a story for another time. At any rate, my most favorite answer so far is a rather simplistic one, but somehow sums up the whole experience for me.

How could your experience in The Dallas Assembly be improved?

"Bigger font on name tags"

Bigger font? That's his suggestion? No "more yearly seminars", no "a more diverse ethnic representation", no "hookers and Dr. Daniels". Just "bigger font on name tags". How small could the font possibly be? 12 pt? 9 pt? Maybe the name tags have a small essay on them, I have no idea. But then wouldn't you say "bigger small essay on name tags"? For some reason it just blows my mind that it was the first thing on his mind. For Pete's sake, get a prescription, man! Someone else claimed that the Assembly was weaker because of "political correctness", which, frankly, sounds suspiciously like a healthy degree of racism, if you ask me.

But there is a light at the end of the tunnel. On one of my hour long breaks from my given task, I found this:

WE ARE LOOKING FOR AN UNDISCOVERRED ACTRESS TO PLAY IN A SMALL-MED PART OF OUR DOCUMENTARY OF A CERTAIN COUNRTY STAR, WHICH WILL NOT BE DISCUSSED UNTIL AFTER THE SECOND INTERVIEW. JOB REQUIRES MORE THAN 50 LINES THROUGH OUT THE DOCUMENTARY, WHICH YOU WILL HAVE TO MEMORIZE.

YOU MUST SEND A RESUME OF YOUR SELF AND A PICTURE(S) IS A MUST TO BE CONSIDERED. IF WE ARE INTERESTED WE WILL RESPOND WITH A TIME TO MEET, YOU MISS YOUR TIME AND YOU LOOSE YOUR CHANCE, WE ARE TOO BUSY TO RESCHEDULE.
SORRY NO AGENTS WILL BE ALOUD!!!

* Job location is Dallas area
* Compensation: TBD

Ignoring the fact that I'm looking at a job post for acting, I think my favorite thing about this particular job posting is the automatic distrust it instills in me. Nothing says "future employer" like fear and the desire to kick your interviewer in the knees.

On an entirely different note, my mother has taken the plunge into insanity and got yet another kitten. The little bastard's name is Spencer and he's cute. Oh yes, he's cute. But beneath the mewling and fuzzy exterior that smells vaguely of kitty litter is a conniving, evil being that desires to eat my soul. Yesterday, he climbed up my bare leg like it was a ladder. OF FLESH. Later on he took a flying leap at my chest, a la Aliens, and clambered up to my shoulders using my chest as support. MY CHEST. IT ISN'T SOME KIND OF GODDAMN CLIFF SIMULATION THAT THEY HAVE IN R.E.I. TO CLIMB FOR YOUR HEALTH. IT'S MY FREAKING BREASTS. Needless to say, not amused. I'm trying to make an anagram out of "evil incarnate".

Dammit this office is freezing

For reals, I have decided to never go pantsless in my office anymore. And it's not the good kind of pantsless. Don't get me wrong, I'm a massive fan of refusing to wear pants. Some of you may know the story of the time my father refused to wear a shirt all summer. Which is every summer, by the way. At any rate, one night he even refused to put one on in front of a guest, so to combat this, I threatened to never wear pants in the house when his shirt was off. Needless to say, he wasn't impressed and said "Bring it on". But that's not why I now wear a jacket and pants in my office. The reason I wear the equivalent clothing to a breezy fall day when it is 95 outside is that I work in an igloo. And igloo where people don't give me anything to do and instead I must blog to about 7 people who either read this out of pity or because I'm insane.

A brief choir update: we had another rehearsal and I've decided that the whole experience is some weird sort of torture originated in the Netherlands, those Dutch bastards. Every time I give up all hope and attempt to embrace the crapness whole heartedly, they tune. It's the damndest thing and clearly a mistake, but it happens. I also figured out who the old man was who looked like he was checking me out. Turns out he was, but not in THAT way. Stop it. You're gross. He's the father of a girl I went to high school with and if I had bothered to stare at his face I would have figured that out, but luckily Boston has beat the whole "stare at strangers" thing out of me. You know, the hard way. And I've more or less decided what that choir room smells like: old people. Moth balls and the same preserving fluid that my high school biology class used on those fetal pigs.

Which doesn't really segue to my next point: my dog likes cantaloupe. Nay, loves cantaloupe. I gave him some yesterday to get his little furry ass to stop begging. I admit that the whole concept defies reason somewhat, but in the past when our dogs beg for, oh say, celery, I just give them a piece, they realize their mistake, lose all hope, and then go take a nap. Being fairly sure that the dog wouldn't want cantaloupe because it has neither chocolate nor meat in it, I handed him a little piece and all hell broke loose. He's obsessed now. He's gone into cantaloupe withdrawel. For 5 minutes after I finished it, he stood with his front legs on my knees begging. Normally he's dedicated, but also flighty. I didn't even know he was capable of that level of concentration.

Finally, I am somewhat aghast to discover that I actually do really like the new Mariah Carey, "Shake it off", and that I have CONTINUED to like it for 2 weeks now. Weird.

The inevitable has happened

Serafina, my older kitty, saw Dante's nuts and took her opportunity. It happened at about 9 pm last night. Dante was lolling around being adorable and I was petting his belly. I turned away, but Dante continued to expose his belly, complacent in his joy. Serafina, seeing her chance, reared back and tried to bite off his nuts. Yes, though he is but 4 months old, Sera thought it nigh time he was neutered and went for the family jewels. But I implore you, compatriots, to fear not, for, as is the wont of most men who sense the impending danger to their fruit and berries, Dante reacted with the speed normally attributed to cheetahs on speed.

New Orleans

This might end up being the only post that is even vaguely serious on my blog, which is actually a good thing since it probably means that nothing is bothering me enough to really bring it up. However, in this instance I can't help myself because it's just too close to home. I'm writing as a plea to whomever hasn't already done something for the hurricane survivors to please help out in any way you can. The Red Cross is obviously calling for blood and money more than anything else. I think even $20 from people can really add up. I hate watching the news shows on stuff like this because they're so obviously capitalizing on the anguish of others, so I have been getting all of my news via radio and newspapers and it's heartbreaking. An entire city full of culture, history, and life just destroyed. Lives completely wiped out in an afternoon. From what I hear from survivors, no one really thought it was going to be as bad as the news claimed so they didn't even try to grab their valuables. As a result, the people that did leave usually have literally the clothes on their back and the generosity of those around them.

Right now in Dallas and any other major city in the surrounding states that hasn't been wrecked by water and wind, refugees from New Orleans and some places in Mississippi and Alabama are streaming in. The arenas and convention centers in both Dallas and Houston are being transformed into housing for people who need it. This morning on the radio there was a stream of people who called in asking where they could sign up to house the refugees for up to a year. A year with strangers in their house. It's completely awe inspiring and has really reinstated my faith in my community. One woman even took a loan out on her 401k to give $4,000 to charities helping out. Of course, I'm sure you can get all of this information online or in newspapers. I suppose I was just struck by the fact that the headline in today's San Francisco newspaper was about the Olympics. The freaking OLYMPICS. There are hundreds, possibly THOUSANDS of people dead and dying the fetid waters of one history's greatest cities and they're talking about fucking sports.

This isn't making tons of sense, but I hope and pray that each one of you who hasn't been following this will look into it and decide to contribute. I often believe that giving money to charities can be not a "waste" but not necessarily a benefit either depending on what charity you give to. So often groups of people with good hearts don't have the business savvy it takes to truly use the funds wisely and they through money at a problem. However, that's basically all we can do at this point and, honestly, I trust the Red Cross. They're a corporation, which is what it takes to have the impact that they do. But if you don't like them, I'm sure your favorite charity is around here somewhere helping out. But please PLEASE help out. It's ridiculous how many people have lost their entire lives.

Mason, I trust you're alright but I can't help but worry. Amy, is Joe okay? Anyone else, if I know someone there and was unaware they had moved in the area, can you tell me so that I can start freaking out properly all at once? I promise I'll get over it, I'm just so freaking upset.